Bash Missing Scenes
by kaahiescheck
Summary: For all of you who felt a serious lack of some serious Klaine stuff in the Bash episode.
1. Chapter 1

**I guess that episode frustrated me a bit? I mean, don't get me wrong, I loved it and everything, but apart from a tiny song, we didn't get to see how Kurt being beaten up affected our dearest Blaine. I yearned for more Klaine there. I know it wasn't quite the point, and there was Burt, so yay to that (I literally squealed when he came on screen), but I honestly felt they couldn't have left out Klaine's conversation about it. It felt, like, _vital_ and _important_.**

**So I tried, and here it is.**

**I do have other chapters planned out, but the sad thing is that I'm going on a two-week vacation, so no writing during that time... yeah. Just read the story and maybe follow it if you're interested? You might forget this even existed two weeks from now and miss updates ;D**

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><p>The tears pooled his eyes, but that was about everything they did. There was something awfully comforting about lying down with Kurt, even if it was in a hospital because he had gotten beaten up. For now, if he closed his eyes and took a deep breath (as deep as his closed nose would let him), he could <em>almost<em> pretend they were asleep at the loft. And that's what he tried to do for about fifteen minutes.

Suddenly remembering something, Blaine sat up and retrieved his phone from his pocket, sniffing silently and wiping his nose on his sleeve. He brought up Sam's contact and asked him to call Burt and tell him what happened. Sure, he figured it was kind of _his_ place to do so, but all he wanted to do now was curl up against Kurt again and hug him and try to shield him from any more harm. Even more, he didn't quite trust himself to speak, much less make an important phone call.

After hitting send and getting an affirmative response a few seconds later, he lay back down and tried to make himself comfortable, very careful as not to touch any of Kurt's bruises, afraid of the ones that could be hidden beneath his hospital clothing. That thought led his eyes to the pile of clothes on a counter next to the window and he quickly averted his gaze. For some reason, it looked a bit morbid and – _no, don't go there_.

Blaine sniffed again and glanced at Kurt's face. The nasty cut on his left cheek was what troubled him the most, because that definitely hadn't been caused by a human hand, foot, knee, or anything of the sort. It had been an object; what kind of object, he didn't dare imagine for fear of having a panic attack.

In an attempt to keep himself sane, he lay his head back down on Kurt's shoulder and closed his eyes, trying to maybe get some sleep. Of course, he knew that wasn't going to happen. Firstly, his eyes were too swollen. Secondly, his stomach was still clenching uncomfortably. Thirdly, he couldn't breathe very rhythmically yet. But he had to at least pretend he tried and let himself be comforted by the slow and steady movement of Kurt's chest next to him.

He had no idea what time it was – probably the middle of the night, but he was still awake anyway – when Kurt stirred slightly. Blaine raised himself in his elbows and looked down at him, ready to help in anything.

"Kurt?" he whispered softly and caressed the side of his hair with his right hand. He received a faint hum in response, and his heart rate increased. "It's okay, I'm here. Are you awake?"

Slowly, Kurt's eyes opened, but only halfway. Seeing those blue orbs was all Blaine needed to release a breath he thought he'd been holding ever since the hospital had called him. His hand kept caressing the chestnut hair.

"Hey, how are you feeling?"

"Hm," he blinked heavily. "What…"

"You're in the hospital. Someone found you, and they brought you in, then the hospital called me. It's okay. You're okay. It's the middle of the night." Okay, maybe his sentences were a bit off and lacked a certain logical sequence, but he thought he did pretty well. Then he asked again. "How are you feeling? Do you need me to get you anything? I could call the nurse."

"No," Kurt's voice came out raspy and weak, and it pained Blaine to see him like this – it really ripped his heart apart, so all he could do was grimace.

"You should probably go back to sleep," he dropped a kiss at Kurt's forehead, where it wasn't bruised. "We'll talk in the morning."

Kurt seemed to agree, because he closed his eyes again, and Blaine resumed his position next to him, where he stayed until the first rays of sun started filling the room. He decided to check his phone, in case he had missed anything, even though that was unlikely. No messages or calls, and his cell said it was seven thirty in the morning. Lightly pecking Kurt's hair, he got up and dialed Burt's number. It only had to ring twice.

"How is he?" That's how he was greeted, with a concerned voice of a father.

Blaine took a deep breath and ran a hand through his face, trying to make his thoughts clearer. "Sleeping. On pain meds. Other than that and the bruises, he's fine." He released another breath of relief. Saying that Kurt was fine seemed to somehow calmed his nerves. "I-I hope I didn't wake you. Sorry for calling so early. I just wanted to make sure Sam had reached you."

"He did. I'm leaving to the airport right now. Should be there by eleven."

"O-okay." Blaine wanted to smack himself. _Get a grip and stop stuttering. Really, not that hard._ That was why he didn't want to be the one calling the previous night. "Ah, did you… Do you need me to pick you up? To find the hospital?"

"Yeah, that would be nice." Burt sounded like he was lifting something, and then he released the air. "I'll let you know when my plane takes off. I gotta get to the car now."

"Okay."

Blaine was lowering the phone to end the call when Burt called him again, and he lifted the phone back to his ear. "Hey, Blaine?" Burt paused for a moment. "Get some rest, will ya? You sound exhausted."

Alright, so it was _that_ bad.

He nodded and muttered something similar to an okay and hung up, pocketing his phone again. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, hands falling to his hips. He surely felt exhausted, and he probably was, because he hadn't slept all night. Still, having it pointed out by someone who wasn't seeing him spoke volumes as to the level of his exhaustion.

"Was that Rachel?" he heard a faint voice behind him and turned around to find Kurt watching him. Blaine immediately sat back down on the bed.

"No. It was your dad." Blaine reached for Kurt's hand and took it, trying to avoid the hurt areas, which were a lot. "He's flying out here in a couple of hours."

"It must be pretty serious, then."

Blaine's face fell when he released control of his emotions. He stared at Kurt, tears coming back to his eyes and this time actually threatening to fall.

"Kurt…" he sounded horrible even to himself. "We've been worried sick. Rachel and the others – we were all here last night after I got the call, and it took ages for the doctors to tell us anything. Yes, your dad is coming here as well, maybe because you ended up in the _hospital_," his voice broke and he looked down, swallowing a sob.

"I'm fine now."

Blaine turned his eyes to the ceiling to keep the tears from falling before looking at Kurt's expressionless face again. "I'm serious."

"So am I."

He let his gaze got to the floor again for a moment and inhaled deeply to keep his emotions at check again. He wasn't mad at Kurt… not exactly. He shouldn't get angry right now. He would deal with his own feelings later.

"I know what you did," Blaine said at last, not raising his eyes. He felt Kurt frowning, so he explained himself. "A woman was walking by when you decided to play hero and help that guy. She heard what you guys were screaming and kinda saw what happened. When they left you there, unconscious, she called 911." He shuttered as he breathed, and then he locked eyes with his fiancé. "I'm proud of what you did. Really, I am. A lot."

Since he kept quiet after that and lowered his gaze once more, Kurt raised his eyebrows. "But?"

Blaine took his loudest and shakiest breath ever and raised his tear-streaked face. "Don't ever do that to me again. Ever." Kurt opened his mouth to speak, but Blaine wouldn't let him. "You have _no idea_ how frustrating and horrible it was to keep trying to talk some sense into the front desk lady so she would tell me if you were even _alive_. All the guy who called me said was that someone had brought you in after finding you passed out in a dark alley, all bruised a-and… and then when I got here that woman told me what she saw." He closed his eyes. "Nobody would tell me _anything_ about you because I apparently wasn't family, and I almost had to make that front desk lady call your father to give me permission to receive the news before she figured that, if I was your emergency contact, she probably could trust me. I mean, I'm your _fiancé_, for God's sake. And it took them _forever_ to even –"

"Blaine," Kurt interrupted. "Breathe. I'm fine."

"You could have died!"

He had spoken a bit more loudly than intended. His eyes burned and he dropped his head to his hands, trying to calm himself down.

"Hey," he heard, and then felt a hand on his thigh. "Look at me."

Blaine shook his head, silently crying. He couldn't look at Kurt's bruised and yet still beautiful face. His heart was bursting. He couldn't get enough air to his lungs. It was worse than when _he_ had been at the hospital after being beaten up at that Sadie Hawkins dance, and maybe this was what a panic attack started like.

"Blaine, come on," Kurt grabbed one of his hands, tearing it away from his face. Considering the very quiet mutter of pain that left Kurt's lips, Blaine assumed it had been very hard for him to move that much, and so he dropped the other hand and faced him.

"I can't lose you."

"You won't," Kurt assured him. "I'm not going anywhere. But I'm not gonna be passive in this fight. I'm not gonna let that hate control my life."

"I know, I know," he said despairingly. "I'm so proud of you for standing up like that. But I don't want you to get yourself killed. That other guy is in a coma. A _coma_, Kurt. You're extremely lucky to have gotten out with just a few scratches."

"I'm aware of that and I'm sure my father will give me the lecture, so stop freaking out. I'm _fine_."

Blaine rubbed his temples with his free hand. They weren't going to fight over this. No. Maybe Burt would talk some sense into him, but Blaine would just be happy that he was alive and back to him.

Kurt's hand gave his a little pull, which made him look up with teary eyes. They held each other's eyes for a long time, trying to say so much without having to vocalize it so they wouldn't argue anymore. It was Kurt who broke the slightly tense moment, looking down at his left hand that lay beside him in the bed.

"Where's my ring?"

Blaine glanced at his hand as well. "They probably took it out to take care of your injuries. It should be with your clothes. That's not important right now."

"Would you check it?"

The tone of his voice said it all, and Blaine couldn't deny him that subtle but meaningful reconciliation type of thing. It was his way of saying he was sorry for worrying him, because he cared that Blaine hadn't gotten any sleep due to his adventures. This was him saying he felt bad for driving Blaine out of his mind just to give him the cold-shoulder and pretend it wasn't a big deal. It was him saying that the way he behaved didn't reflect the way he loved and wanted Blaine by his side. It was, basically, the end of the discussion in a caring way.

Getting up, Blaine made his way to the pile of clothes that had looked so morbid the previous night and carefully looked for something shiny. After roaming around for a bit, he lifted the red scarf from the overcoat and found it. He lifted the ring to his lips and turned it to Kurt before putting it back and settling in the bed again.

"Do you feel any better?" he asked in a soft voice as he stroked Kurt's hair, just like he had done in the middle of the night.

"I'm a bit sore, but it's okay. I'm kinda hoping for a scar."

Blaine didn't know what to think of that, so his face did a weird thing between a stare, a grin, and a grimace, which made Kurt crack a smile. That in itself brought a smile to Blaine's lips and he leaned down to plant a kiss on Kurt's nose. Before he could pull away, Kurt's hand held the back of his neck and kept him where he was so he could give him a soft kiss to the lips.

"You should go home, Blaine. You look beyond tired."

"I wanna stay here with you."

"I'll be okay, don't worry. You need a nap."

"Oh, but I _will_ worry," Blaine said with the slightest of smiles. "Besides, I gotta pick your dad at the airport when he gets here, and it's not like I can sleep right now."

"You wanna stay to take care of me, right? To make sure I'm okay," Kurt asked. Blaine thought it was pretty obvious, but he nodded anyway. "So this is my way of taking care of you. Go home. Get some sleep. I'll be right here."

Blaine opened his mouth to argue, but found nothing to say. Instead, he dropped his head and smiled a bit. "Alright, you got me there. Just one more thing." He paused, looking deeply into Kurt's eyes and cherishing their proximity. "I didn't know I was your first emergency contact."

Kurt blinked, confused. "Of course you are. You didn't think you'd be the first?"

"I-I don't know," he broke their gaze, only to return to it. "I guess I just kinda figured it would be your dad, then maybe Carole, and _then_ maybe me, if not Rachel."

"Is my dad in New York?" Kurt raised his eyebrows.

"Well, no, but –"

"Is he gonna be the person I'm gonna live and share everything with for the rest of my life?"

"Not exactly, but –"

"Is he gonna be my husband? Who I will vow to protect and be protected by?"

Blaine's smile grew again. "No, he's not."

"Well, then, he isn't the first on my emergency contacts list. He's the second. Did we get that cleared out?"

He could barely believe his ears, honestly. Even though it seemed like nothing, this was so huge that Blaine had to tone down his grin a bit. Kurt talked about it like it was obvious that he was his only choice, and he had been put before Kurt's own father. I mean, _huge_.

"I love you so much," he muttered against Kurt's lips before dropping a small kiss there. He felt those lips turn up.

"Love you, too. Now go, get some rest."

Blaine kissed his cheek before getting up. When he got to the door, though, he stopped and turned around. "Oh, I'm gonna call Madam Tibideaux and get everything settled so she doesn't give you crap about missing the Winter Critique week."

"My savior," he exclaimed sarcastically. Blaine rolled his eyes and left.


	2. Chapter 2

Blaine had figured a shower would help. He had survived the streets and subway of NYC – had kept his cool even when the woman trapped beside him on the train kept giving him once-overs and slapped his butt when he got off –, he had managed to climb the stairs at home and actually take off his clothes and shower. When he got off, though (only feeling better because he wasn't dirty anymore), Mercedes knocked on his bedroom's door.

"Can I come in?" she asked in a small voice.

If he had slept and not been worried sick for the last ten hours, Blaine probably would have cared to throw in sweatpants and a shirt. However, he only had strength to make sure his towel was secure around his waist before opening the door for her.

"Hey."

"Hey, how are you feeling?" Mercedes asked in a soft voice, and Blaine once again wondered how he looked like. He should probably check himself in a mirror soon.

"I'm better, thank you," he figured it wasn't a lie. He moved backwards so she could enter the room while he dug through his drawers, thinking of what to wear.

"And…" Mercedes sat on the bed and cleared her throat. "Did he… did he wake up?"

"Yeah. He's still in a bit of pain, obviously," Blaine threw a pair of jeans on the bed. "But he's awake and fine." He closed the pants drawer, but held onto the handlers a bit longer. "He's awake and fine," he whispered to himself.

"That's great," Mercedes said in a relieved voice, and Blaine figured she, like all of the others, had probably worried all night long as well. "Thank God." Blaine wasn't sure who he wanted to thank, but anything divine was fine with him, because it still felt like a miracle.

"I… damn it," he cursed as he opened the shirts' drawer. "I forgot to speak to a nurse or a doctor in the morning, so I don't know when he's gonna be discharged. But I'm gonna stop by NYADA to talk to Madam Tibideaux and reschedule mine and Kurt's presentations for the critique, because his is supposed to be tomorrow, which obviously won't work, and then I gotta pick Burt up at the airport and go to the hospital again. Then I'll ask what they know a-and –"

"Breathe, boy," Mercedes had gotten up and was now holding his hands to stop him from wrinkling the shirt he had in hand any more than he'd already done. "You know you don't have to do everything. I'm sure you could call NYADA, and Sam can pick up Burt. If I know you, you haven't slept."

"I can't," he let out a shaky breath and released the shirt. "I'm tired, but I'm not sleepy. I'm fine," he shot her as much of a smile as he could. "I just need to occupy myself."

"Which is different from overextending yourself."

"I'm not, I swear."

Mercedes narrowed her eyes at him, as if she didn't believe a word he said, which was fair, but really wasn't, because Blaine hadn't told a single lie. Well, except from being fine, but staying home and trying to nap wouldn't help with anything, he was sure.

"I'll let you go, on one condition, mister," she added after his sigh of relief the beginning of the sentence had given him, poking his chest. "You're coming home and having lunch with me."

"But I have classes."

"Which you're going to _skip_ because I'm telling you to, okay? You can go back to being mister Broadway baby tomorrow."

Her tone didn't leave room for arguing or negotiation, so Blaine didn't even try, merely nodded and smiled gratefully at her concern. Mercedes patted his arm and started to leave, stopping and turning around when she reached the doorframe.

"Are you sure you don't want Sam to go to the airport? It's pretty far, and he's already out, anyway."

"No," Blaine said decisively. "It's 8:40, I have plenty of time. Burt's plane gets here at 10:28, United Airlines, and he should be leaving any time now and sending me a text." Burt had texted him while he was on the subway with the information.

"That's hardly enough time to go to NYADA and La Guardia, Blaine."

He finally picked a shirt and threw it on the bed as well.

"It's enough time."

"Blaine…"

"I'm fine."

"You need to rest a bit."

"No, Mercedes," he said with finality. "I'll pick him up. Sam already delivered him the news, which _I_ should have done, by the way, but I was too shaken to do it. I can pick up my own father-in-law at the airport, thank you."

Mercedes sighed. "You're too much of a gentleman for your own good, did you know that? You know Burt doesn't care who picks him up. He just wants to see Kurt, and he cares about your health."

But Mercedes didn't _get _it. Blaine owed it to Burt. It had been bad enough that he hadn't been able to get a grip on himself and actually been the one to call and deliver the news, like he _should_ have, what kind of future son-in-law was he? Kurt had kicked him out of the hospital – granted, to rest, but that was beside the point –, so there was no reason why he couldn't get off his butt and be a responsible adult. Burt didn't put all that trust in him just so Blaine could make _Sam_ handle him in a moment of need. It was a matter of honor, pride, and, like, protocol. Much like a contract of responsibilities he'd socially signed when he'd asked for Kurt's hand in marriage, and Mercedes didn't _get_ it.

"I'll be fine, promise," Blaine tried to reassure her.

Mercedes sighed before leaving and closing the door. Blaine didn't let his subconscious talk to him and tell him that she was right. He simply dressed himself as quickly as he could and tamed his hair in record time. He stopped for a second to look in the mirror and noticed he needed to unfrown his brow. Taking a deep breath, he relaxed his forehead muscles and was satisfied enough to leave, receiving Burt's text as he stepped out the door.

No weird middle-aged women almost harassed him this time on the subway, thankfully, and he didn't bother looking for a seat. One of the perks of living with Mercedes is that the house was in Manhattan, which made commute that much better and faster. He was in NYADA in no time, quickly walking the hallways.

The dean's secretary had apparently been informed to let people just go into her office, although Blaine did bother to knock first on the open door, since Madam Tibideaux had seemed busy by her desk.

"Come in, Mr. Anderson," she said before he could open his mouth and without looking up from the paper she was reading. "I do hope you came to reschedule your Midwinter Critique."

"Uh, yes, Miss Tibideaux," Blaine took a seat in front of her.

"I have openings on Thursday afternoon, four o'clock. I believe that suits you?" She finally looked up at him.

Blaine gaped for a moment, not knowing where to begin. He shook his head and swallowed. "There's also need to reschedule Kurt's presentation, and since his is tomorrow, I figured I could take that spot."

Madam Tibideaux put down her pen. "Why would there be need to change Mr. Hummel's time? Is he too being kept busy by a Broadway musical?"

Blaine didn't know what to gather from that, except from the fact that Rachel had probably come before him with scheduling conflicts, because she always had them. He hadn't talked to her since their failed performance, so he wouldn't know.

"Ah, no, Miss Tibideaux. God, I wish that was it. It's…" Blaine's voice faltered. Explaining to someone else what had happened seemed to make the situation even realer. But she was staring at him with a look that suggested that she didn't have the time, and, frankly, _he_ didn't have the time either, so he took a deep breath and held his shaking hands to his lap, focusing on the desk. "Kurt was walking home alone to the subway last night and heard a gay bashing in an alley, so he went in there to help. The guy who was being attacked ran away when he could, so Kurt got…" Another deep breath. "He got pretty beaten up. He's fine now!" He added, meeting her eyes. "It was only a few bruising, and he'll be on his feet in no time. But he's in the hospital recovering and probably won't be able to make it to his performance tomorrow."

There was silence as Madam Tibideaux rested back against her chair. Her face hadn't changed, didn't show any emotion that Blaine could pinpoint in his own emotional state. She interlaced her fingers on top of her stomach and said, "Very well. I'll schedule his presentation to the last spot we have, on Friday, 6 o'clock. And he's, of course, excused from class for the rest of the week."

"Thank you," Blaine nodded. "And then I can take his spot tomorrow?"

Madam Tibideaux leaned her hand on the desk and eyed him carefully. "Obviously you _can_, Mr. Anderson, but it's not strictly necessary. Given the circumstances, I can push you to Thursday."

"That's very generous of you, but I think I'll take tomorrow. I already have the song picked and everything."

Blaine wrung his hands together on his lap until he got an accepting nod from the dean, and then he stood to leave. His hands were still shaking the whole – long – subway ride to the La Guardia Airport, and he gripped the metal bars as if his life depended on it. He didn't know why he was still like this, feeling an almost shortness of breath, when he knew that Kurt was perfectly fine.

_It's because he could have _not_ been. It's because it can happen again._

Blaine shook his head and tried to focus on his performance for the next day. He was singing _Not While I'm Around_, definitely. If Madam Tibideaux was looking for emotional connection, this would most certainly deliver. No instruments. Yes, he would sing it in a simple, a capella sound. That would be perfect.

He glanced at his watch. 10:15, crap, he would have to run to reach the right terminal.

It all turned out alright, since Blaine had a couple of seconds to breathe and pull himself together before Burt appeared at the arrivals lounge and greeted him. Blaine immediately took the man's bag from him, ignoring the heavy complaints he got there, and directed them both to grab a taxi, because there was no way he was making Burt take the subway all the way back.

"I got a hotel room, ya know," Burt said once they seated on the back of the taxi and he'd told the driver the address to said hotel. "I know you kids were so packed that you had to split into two apartments."

Blaine gaped. "But that's exactly why we have room for you now. You can stay in my room in Mercedes's apartment, because it's in the city and it's more convenient, and I'll stay with Rachel, no problem. Or if you wanted to stay in Bushwick there's also no problem, really."

"Not gonna convince me, kid."

He would have chuckled at the familiarity of the type of conversation if he could muster enough willpower to do so. It didn't matter, because Burt didn't seem to be in the mood either. He was staring out the window, seemingly deep in thought, and Blaine let him be, concentrating on him not noticing his still shaking hands.

"Sam didn't tell me everything," Burt broke the silence, and Blaine looked up to find him still gazing out the window. "He didn't say that, of course, but I could feel it. He just said that Kurt had gotten beaten up in an alley and taken to the hospital, which is completely plausible." Burt paused and turned to Blaine. "But what's he not telling me?"

"That Kurt went into the alley to help another guy who was being gay bashed and that the guy fled, leaving him alone to deal with the bastards," Blaine answered immediately. And he was usually really good at not using any word that might be offensive or impolite near Burt, but he couldn't find a better one. Actually he could, but it would be a bit _too _rude.

He waited until the new information sank in, watching as Burt ran a hand along his face, and for a moment Blaine worried about the stress and his heart. He waited for a curse, a comment, a sigh or something, but nothing came, and they remained in silence for most of the ride and traffic.

When they got to the hotel, Burt expressly forbade Blaine from paying for the cab and from carrying his luggage again and sat him in one of the lobby's armchairs while he checked in. It was a lovely armchair, one of those with the tall backs that extended a bit to the sides, and next Blaine remembered he was being shaken awake and raising his head.

"You didn't get rest, did you?" Burt scolded him as he got up.

"I had to stop at NYADA to excuse Kurt from class and reschedule his Midwinter Critique."

"Things easily done if you have a phone."

Blaine didn't answer and got them another taxi to the hospital. He wanted to see Kurt so badly, but knew he should leave him to his dad, so he only stayed long enough to talk to the doctor and find out that they were keeping him overnight due to his possible concussion. Then he asked Burt to tell hi to Kurt for him and that he'd be back late in the afternoon.

He went home, as Mercedes had demanded, and had lunch with her. She said Sam was still out and didn't elaborate, and Blaine didn't bother to ask. After force feeding what she deemed to be enough – "_I've seen you devour three cronuts. Don't get easy on my pasta, mister_" –, Mercedes shooed him to his bedroom, telling him to rest. His body was responding to the exhaustion of having done what he'd needed to do and to having a delicious home-cooked meal, so Blaine stripped down to his briefs, grabbed Margaret Thatcher Dog, and collapsed on his bed.


End file.
